


how i wish you were here

by HovercraftOfEels



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Endgame spoilers (mild)., Eventual Smut, F/M, I'm also incapable of true slowburns but hey at least the plot will go way too slow to develop?, Lots going on because I just think the whole situation could have been handled better ok., Mention of Past Abuse, Multi, eventual redemption arc, lots of background plot and resolution for Daredevil characters too (I hope)., season two rewrite, tags updated with each chapter.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HovercraftOfEels/pseuds/HovercraftOfEels
Summary: After the events in Central Park and pardon by the DHS, Frank goes for a drive. He gets his head on straight and returns to New York in the aftermath of Fisk's second attempted takeover, trying to settle down and find an after. But there are conspiracies at play and people trying to pull strings to make sure that Frank Castle will lose everything all over again.An unexpected figure steps in to make sure that it doesn't happen.





	1. so you think you can tell

Frank Castle took his time.

In the aftermath of everything, with Madani and the other suits giving him back what they could of his life, it was tempting to just rush into something, anything to stave the tide of fear that threatened to overtake him. That all he was any good at anymore was war, was death. Half of him was itching to prove the traitorous thought wrong, but there was another half that terrified him.

Maybe if all he was good at was death, that would suit him just fine.

So he took a drive. A goddamned long one, all the way to California and back like the milage might purge the poison of the past years away (like anything could). The car was a gift from Madani or the CIA or whoever, legal and clear but he was still cautious. Never stayed in one place for long, but for once that wasn’t much of a problem. He wanted to see everything he could.

And there was just so much for him to see.

He watched the sun set over the Grand Canyon and rise over Venice Beach. He saw the biggest ball of twine (and then the other one on Route 66 claiming the same, but it’s a hell of a lot smaller, and that fact made him chuckle) and checked out a mystery spot before hiking through parts of Zion and Yellowstone that almost overwhelmed him with how beautiful nature really could be. He actually slept under the stars some nights, and it’s almost enough to make him forget the sound of mortar fire and violence. 

Almost. 

He tried diner coffee from every shitty place he can find, gets called ‘honey’ by waitresses from twenty to sixty four, swaps stories (with key elements removed) with truckers on the long haul and hipsters trying to ‘rediscover’ America. He really hadn’t left New York before the war, so he was just discovering all in the first place. Either way, he wasn’t putting labels on any of it. 

Frank went by his fake name, the one that doesn’t fit right, especially when he’s trying to figure out what it means to be anyone in this afterwards. Not Pete, not Lt. Castle, not the Punisher, but just Frank, even if that isn’t a reality anymore. He knows perfectly well why he’s trying so hard to figure this out, even if he can’t admit it out loud, especially not to the person whose words echo in his brain most hours of the day.

I want there to be an after. For you.

He almost called her a dozen or so times, but every time he stayed his hand, closed his eyes and put the burner away. It’s not as easy as just making the call, because really, Frank doesn’t think he deserved that after, not really. There’s a deep sense of failure in his bones, even if it isn’t rational. He had killed Rawlins with no regret, but Russo was still alive and there was the problem. He should have ended it there, the Punisher would have ended it there but he hadn’t, and he wouldn’t let himself examine too closely the reason why.

For all that Frank insisted that it was for reprisal, for a colder and crueler sense of vengeance, he couldn’t justify it by that entirely. Because there was a part of him, even now, a part that he hated that still saw Billy Russo as his brother, in spite of everything.

And he couldn’t pull the damn trigger. Not then. Probably not now.

So Frank wandered, Frank explored, Frank tried to forget. Frank tried to reconcile this new man he is, the one with a brother that he didn’t kill and a family that he still buried. The one who had a borrowed name and a past that had been erased everywhere except in his memory, and no matter how many new haircuts and clean cars he gets, he still knew who the man in the mirror is. How many lives he’s ended.

And the one that he hadn’t been able to.

Curtis called a lot, more than anyone else. Checking in to make sure that Frank still had his head on straight, that he was doing all right. Lieberman called a couple times, and the second time Frank even picked up and listened to the laughing family in the background, his heart surprisingly full. He’d almost expected to be feel bitterness to hear the sounds of a happy family, but he didn’t. It was more like relief, for David, for Sarah. Maybe even for himself.

Madani called, just once, leaving a voicemail with an offer that Frank can’t begin to work through, not yet. It’s too tempting. Taking on that mantle officially.

One night, there was a bartender who is friendly, and he’s lonely enough one night to at least talk to her in abstracts, and thankfully drunk enough to do it with some eloquence. He talked about tragedy in broad strokes, he mentioned friends who he wished were still there. Frank found himself repeating what Karen said all those months ago, quoting her as he stares into his whisky and this Beth listens with understanding of what he’s not saying aloud.

We’re all just fighting to not be alone.

The bartender called him on that one with a smile, asking if this ‘friend’ was a woman, and the way Frank smiled just made her laugh and tell him to call the woman he was in love with already. To stop being lonely. To try. And he found that he was almost happy as he reaches for the phone in his pocket as he headed out of the bar, purpose and mind finally clear, when the news cut over on the shitty roadhouse tv, and Frank’s blood turned to ice.

Wilson Fisk Released.

+++

He drove the thirteen hours in ten, but he still didn’t get there in time to save Karen in the church, to put Wilson Fisk in the goddamned ground where he belongs instead of back in a cell because Red couldn’t get it done, again. The news hadn’t filtered out to him in time to do anything but be there for the aftermath.

To stand there, silently now in her hallway, fingers twitching at his side for a trigger or a knife, anything that he could use to be of use. To protect her, even if it was clear she really didn’t need his help with that. 

Karen Page didn’t need Frank Castle. He knew that. He respected that. But maybe he needed her, especially if he was trying to hold on to Frank Castle at all. So he waits, assured by Curtis that she was alive and safe.

It’s nearly nightfall when she does arrive, dressed for a funeral, her expression calm, sad, breaking his heart in ways he didn’t think were strictly possible after everything he’d been through. Frank was swaying, swallowing back his words as he stood there waiting for her in a darkened alcove.

In hindsight, probably not the smartest move. But she just smiled. She always understood.

“You’re late, Castle.”

And somehow, it doesn’t come off as recrimination. It’s not pointing out his failure (even though he still deeply feels as if he’s failed her,) it’s like she’s welcoming him home, or at least to the concept of home. Frank’s so lost in his own head that maybe he’s reading too much into it, but Karen seems to understand anyway, and holds open the door after she’s unlocked it, smiling at him still.

He doesn’t deserve her. He knows that. But he also knows perfectly well that this kind of thing is never about what you deserve.

So Frank follows her into her apartment, fingers still twitching out a tattoo at his side, making sure there are no snipers, no traps, no bombs, nothing that might steal her right out from underneath his watch, now that he was back. Karen noticed, and there was a frisson of irritation on her face that he couldn’t blame her for. Months of silence, only to show up, skulking in her hallway.

Long after she needed him the most.

“Why are you here, Frank?” It’s still not blame, but he can hear the exhaustion in her voice, but more than that, the impatience. He’d kept her waiting a long time, after all, and it wasn’t fair, he knew that.

So he swallowed. He nodded once, then looked at her, eyes locked on her in that intense, overwhelming way of his. Frank Castle wasn’t good at retreat, anyway.

“I’m holding on. With two hands.”

Her expression isn’t confused at any point, and he didn’t expect it to be. Karen was smart, smarter than he was, that was for sure. But he hadn’t known how she’d react to that, how she’d feel about any of it.

And then she was in his arms, and it was impossible to tell who kissed who first.

He wanted to apologize for not being there, for how long it had taken him to get right, get his head on straight, but she swallowed every word with her lips long before he could speak any of it. It doesn’t matter. They’d have time.

Karen’s arms are around his shoulders, and he’s a little shorter than her in her heels. Frank didn’t give a shit. He kissed her roughly, knowing that she wouldn’t break and she sure as hell wouldn’t thank him for treating her like she was made of glass. But he couldn’t help but hold onto her tenderly because she meant so much. It was almost dangerous, this moment, because after it, everything would change.

It had to. He knew that. And he had to stop being afraid of what change might bring.

She made a noise against his mouth that almost undid him, then and there. It was hungry, like the sound he would have made if his voice was honeyed instead of shattered glass and smoke, and it drew him right back into the moment, not the unknowable future. He wanted to be here, present.

Hers.

But Karen understood, because she always did. She’d yelled at him in the hospital when he needed to be drawn out, she’d stood up for him during the trial, she’d been there in the aftermath, each and every step. If he’d found any sense of after, it was because Karen had brought him to it. There was a danger to that, to putting her on a pedestal like he so clearly was, and he pulled away with an almost audible pop, gasping for air in the dark of her apartment.

“You’re sure? You know what I am.” But even as he asked it he knew it was a stupid question. Karen knew exactly who Frank was. She had been there in the darkness, been there for his worst, and quietly had loved him anyway.

She laughed, softly as her arms wrapped around his shoulders, forehead pressed against his. Karen looked at him with a little shake of her head, totally fond and yet clearly pointing out he was being an idiot. “Yeah. I do.” And she kissed him again.

+++

Frank Castle takes his time.

They kiss, they fall onto the couch, they talk. Karen tells him everything that happened; the meeting with Fisk, the church, the Grand Jury, the interrupted wedding. His fists itch with the desire to hit the Kingpin until there’s nothing left but red mist, and he’s pretty goddamned sure that at some point in the very near future he’s going to fight with Murdock about his shitty code and choices.

Fisk was still breathing, which meant it still wasn’t over. Maybe Daredevil couldn’t kill, but the Punisher sure could.

But the last thing Karen needs is his anger, his rage, even if she understands it perfectly well. He listens, he holds her as the sun sets over the Kitchen, her words soft but strong as she talks about Agent Nadeem and Agent Poindexter, all names he files away because this isn’t the end, it’s an intermission, and he knows it.

But that doesn’t mean the intermission isn’t important.

“The worst part is that Ellison fired me for not telling him who Daredevil was, but we talked after the Grand Jury thing. I’m still going to freelance for the Bulletin, investigate for the firm on the side. I can’t let them keep hiding in the shadows, Frank, you know that I won’t,” Karen says almost defensively, and he manages a chuckle, because he knows better than to argue.

He presses a kiss to her temple. “No idea where I go next. Got my head on straight, spent weeks on the road just --- seeing everything I could. But then I heard the news, nothing else mattered. Just had to get to you.”

Karen laughed against his chest, and Frank found himself laughing too. He could get used to that.

He could get used to all of it.

“Yeah, well. I like the idea of you sticking around, Castle. If you’re wondering.” She looked up at him with those bright blue eyes, and Frank almost had to laugh again because how could she think there was any other option he was going to take?

“Yeah. I like that idea too.”

+++

They sleep peacefully just like that, curled against each other on the couch for a while before he wakes up, long before dawn and carries her to the bedroom to make sure she gets some actual rest. There are bruises and cuts that he can see which tells him there are plenty that he can’t, and he knows how in the aftermath you had to collapse. Had to heal. 

In the morning, he made them pancakes.

They fall into a pattern together, although Frank still gets his own place, determined to not rush anything, determined to not fuck it up. He calls Curtis and David, letting them both know he’s back in New York, and he debates the whole Madani offer internally. He’ll ask Karen for her thoughts before he agrees to anything, because being the Punisher for hire isn’t something he’d do lightly, even for the people who brought him justice.

For now, it’s just easing back into what is looking like that concept of after, only better because she’s right next to him.

One week to the day after he’s come back to New York, Frank arrives in Karen’s apartment a solid hour before she’s due to leave the Bulletin because he’s going to surprise her. A home cooked dinner, a bottle of wine, and then -- who knew. They’d taken it slow, but neither one of them was a particularly patient person when it came down to it, and he was sure Karen was as eager as he was for those next steps, to stop dancing around sex.

He had a bag of groceries in his arm, using the key she’d given him to open the door, only to find it was already open, just a hair’s breadth of light visible through the frame into the darkened hallway.

Just like that, Frank Castle had retreated, and he was on high alert, setting the bag down silently, pulling the piece he carried under his coat out, moving silently into the apartment with his gun out and eyes sharp. Weeks of calm hadn’t done a goddamned thing to really make him softer, he realized that with stark clarity now.

But nothing could have prepared him for who was standing in the kitchen, hands folded before him, expression that calculated arrogance he knew so well.

“Hey there, Frankie.”


	2. heaven from hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: There is an Endgame spoiler in this chapter, as well as a mention of CSA in passing (not explicit.)

When they were just a couple of dumbass teenagers, Captain America had saved Frank and Billy from some street toughs, and neither one of them had ever forgotten it.

 

They were in over their heads, two skinny ass kids from the Bronx who had mouthed off to the wrong assholes, but then out of nowhere stepped Steve Rogers, older than he had been when he’d become the man who the world marveled at, the first Avenger. The man they’d all thought had been killed during World War II who had appeared perfectly fine years later, not dead after all. The hero that almost all of America looked up to because he represented everything good they aspired to be.

 

The boy from Brooklyn who made good.

 

Frank was almost sure that Billy had probably lipped off to one of the five assholes advancing on them now with blackjacks and butterfly knives, but it didn’t matter. They’d had each others’ backs since they were kids, and they would have them now, even if it looked like it was about to be one real bad day for Castle and Russo. Frank and Billy had their fists up but no weapons, nothing but ego and stubbornness. They gave each other brief, stubbornly brave looks before turning back to the gang advancing, the sneers obvious, the danger imminent. The ringleader lifted his knife to strike, and then out of nowhere came that strong, clear voice.

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, son.”

 

That’s when the boys learned what heroic really means. When they watched Steve Rogers disarm every one of the punks without really hurting them, kicking each and every one of them out of the alley without so much as breaking a sweat. The thugs ran, eyes wide with fear while Frank and Billy only stared in awe as Captain America literally wiped the floor with their foes.

 

But then he turned and looked at the two in the back of the alley, his eyes fully encapsulating your father telling you  _ I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed _ and both Frank and Billy could only bow their heads in something like apology.

 

Steve stepped forward, older now but not too old to remember his own days in alleyways with bullies, clapping a hand on Billy Russo’s shoulder.

 

“Sometimes you don’t need to go looking for a fight, son. No matter how many people try to tell you otherwise.”

 

That moment sticks. Frank and Billy become Marines, and for awhile, they both try to make good. To pretend there isn’t an undercurrent of violence written into them both. Billy still makes the wrong choice, and then the cascade of wrong choices that follow, that makes everything worse. That single change, the meeting with Captain America doesn’t save Frank from Billy’s betrayal.

 

But down the line, it matters. Long after the carousel in Central Park. Long after Frank gets to figuring out what his new life could and should mean. 

 

It leads here. To this moment.

 

There were moments that didn’t feel real, not when you were in them, not after, and there was usually a unifying thread of violence between them. Moments where bullets or fists were flying, bones cracking, the music of a fight that tied it all together, and Frank Castle was still far too good at leading the symphony.

 

Billy Russo, sitting in the middle of Karen’s kitchen.

 

The violence was inevitable, he supposed, but that didn’t make it feel real. Frank had come to terms with a duel nature now, that he was both Frank Castle and the Punisher, that on that day in Central Park he’d been changed into something new, something that couldn’t be forgotten. He wasn’t reveling in it, he wasn’t trying to get his fix or any of that bullshit.

 

But he wasn’t afraid to become what he had to be. And that boded real ill for Billy.

 

It took a few minutes for him to figure out what exactly was so bizarre about this fight that Russo had clearly wanted, even though he was giving as good as he was getting, landing a few solid hits on Frank’s battered body even as Frank was giving them right back. The other man wasn’t armed, which meant this ambush was the worst planned attempt on his life yet.

 

And Billy wasn’t the kind of man to make mistakes like that.

 

It went beyond that Russo clearly didn’t have a gun (Frank had, but he’d managed to disarm him in the first pass, but just knocked it free rather than going after it), he wasn’t making use of any improvised weaponry either. Frank was gonna be sore as hell tomorrow, and he was going to make goddamned sure he was there tomorrow, but Billy wasn’t going for the kill.

 

It also didn’t help that it wasn’t his place, and any number of weapons that he had stashed around. This was Karen’s place and it wasn’t like she had an arsenal on hand, and he was going to have to buy her some new furniture since that chair was the third thing they’d broken so far.

 

Grabbing the leg, the end splintered sharp enough he could do some real damage with it, Frank managed to knock Billy back to the ground, his foot on the other man’s chest, panting with exertion and rage.

 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here, right now, Russo.” And for the life of him, Frank couldn’t figure why he stopped to ask, other than none of this was adding up, none of this made a goddamned bit of sense, and he had to know before it was lost all together.

 

Billy Russo grinned, without malice but that trademark, cocky way of his. It was just like the old days, and it unsettled Frank to his very core.

 

“Because I’m the only chance you’ve got of saving Karen Page’s life.”

 

+++

 

It’s unnerving that Russo doesn’t fight him zip-tying him to a chair, the gun retrieved from under the couch even if there wasn’t any chance Frank was going to use it here unless absolutely necessary. A new relationship wasn’t likely to handle a bloody gunshot death in her apartment particularly well. But Billy seemed calm, even if Frank could tell something was off.

 

As if he wasn’t getting used to that.

 

Billy Russo looked like shit. His hair was cropped close to the skull, the scars on his face better than Frank had expected but still jarring. But it was his eyes that Frank was avoiding, intentionally. It wasn’t that they were dead, it was more that they were lost. He’d seen that look before, but in his own eyes.

 

If anything, it just made him angrier.

 

“All right, asshole. Start talking.” Frank’s voice ground out between gritted teeth, the line of his jaw flexed in barely controlled rage. All it had taken was Billy Goddamned Russo walking back into his life to undo the weeks of calm he’d chased across Route 66, which didn’t exactly make Frank proud.

 

He was trying. God, he was trying.

 

Billy shook his head, looking out the window. “Where the fuck do you want me to start, Frankie? Look, I don’t exactly have a linear explanation of what’s gone down.” There was something in his tone that was raw, and while it didn’t remove Frank’s anger, it did check it. He exhaled roughly, shaking his head.

 

“Russo, start wherever makes sense. But so help me Christ, if you don’t start talking soon, I’m going to beat the answers out of you, understand?” Frank’s eyes narrowed on Billy, who nodded, looking back at him with that same unnerving expression.

 

“I woke up and thought I was in Kandahar. I -- I don’t remember anything after our op that went to shit, and you went after Orange. I thought maybe, when I woke up that I’d gotten hurt on that mission more than I realized, but then I opened my eyes. Saw the cuffs, realized I was in a hospital and no one would tell me why.” His voice was low, strained, and he looked away again. If Frank didn’t know Billy better, he’d think it was something like sadness or shame.

 

But he really did know better.

 

“They told me I was being held for -- shit. It was a long list, and none of it made sense. I had no memory of any of it, Frank. Coming back to the States, Orange telling me about what he was going to do to you, to your family, everything that came after. And no one would  _ tell me specifics _ . There’s a Homeland agent who clearly wanted to throw me out a goddamned window, and a doctor who kept throwing me into ‘art therapy’ but she played it cagey about why Frank Castle wanted me dead. Couldn’t get a straight answer out of anyone, just told over and over again that I was a criminal, I had a TBI, and you gave it to me.” Billy swallowed, looking painfully raw, vulnerable.

 

Frank hated that. Hated that it got to him. Hated that Billy was likely using it intentionally to set him off his game, to make him soft or some shit. So he just stood, impassive, staring down at Russo until he finally continued.

 

“Then I woke up one night, and she was in the bed with me. Nothing -- nothing happened, I think. She was just kinda there, curled up around me but I was cuffed and helpless and ---” A rough, bitter laugh escaped Billy’s mouth, his head shaking. “You can probably guess I didn’t tell you everything about Foster Care, even when we were kids. And you can probably guess why. I couldn’t fight back every time.” He took another deep breath. “I wanted to claw out of my skin when I saw her, but I just froze. Couldn’t even shove her out of the bed or anything, just waited for the sun to come up.” His voice was ragged, eyes unfocused.

 

Frank looked away. “Then what, Bill?” It lacked the heat of before. He hated that too.

 

“I played nice. Didn’t let her know I woke up, went to the bullshit art therapy, listened to her poke and prod at my memory and realized just how hard this doc was trying to make me  _ hate  _ you. She danced around anything that I did was wrong. It was like she wanted to go full Bonnie and Clyde with me or some shit, Frankie. And you know what it made me remember? Not anything from before, but that shit when we were kids. When we ran into  _ him _ , and what he said. Not to go looking for a fight, and it made me wonder why the hell this supposed psychologist wanted mem to find one so badly.” Billy laughed, without humor. “So I played along, mostly. Waited until she got a little sloppy with her log in on the computer, and I got into my records.”

 

Billy’s dark eyes, almost black now, fixed on Frank’s.

 

“And I read everything.”

 

Frank stared back, unblinking. The anger was still there, flooding back as raw and visceral as the day he’d met Billy at the carousel, the day he’d intended to finish it. Even now he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just killed Russo then and there, leaving him bleeding as he held Madani’s head and waited for the cops to get there instead. Maybe that was the real difference between the two of them. Both agents of violence, but there was a line Frank couldn’t seem to cross, not yet, and that had been right at the edge of Billy Russo’s life.

 

Billy hadn’t had the same issue.

 

Russo looked away, back out the window. “I know what I did. I don’t have any memory of it, but I know. I know about Central Park, I know about Rawlins.” His voice didn’t waver. “I know about Maria and the kids.” It was to his credit that he didn’t bother to try and apologize, which Frank was sure would have just provoked his rage again. As it was, his fingers just twitched at his side, the gun in his other hand steady.

 

“And you know the worst part, Frankie? I don’t doubt it. I  _ know  _ me, you know?” He looked back at Frank with a steady look that somehow managed to be arrogant and vulnerable all at once. “I am a selfish son of a bitch, and if it came down to keeping my skin safe, yeah. Yeah, I know I did it.”

 

Frank had to look away this time. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrow. “We nearing the point, Russo?”

 

Billy took another deep breath. If nothing else, at least, Frank could tell at least one thing: the asshole wasn’t lying. He was at least getting the ugly truth, each and every bit of it, for all that it helped.

 

“Then I found her emails. They were using some kind of codename system, but Dr. Dumont is pretty shitty at espionage. Whoever they were to, that man works for Wilson Fisk. They told her to get me angry, get me focused on Frank Castle.” His eyes were so dark, they were almost black. “And one of the things they recommended was targeting Karen Page.”

 

The door opened, and in walked Karen to a particularly  _ incredible  _ tableau. Some of her furniture knocked over, some of it destroyed, and in the middle of it sat Billy Russo, tied to a chair with her boyfriend sitting in front of him, a gun in his hand. It wasn’t the scene alone that shocked her.

 

It was the fact that they wore identical expressions of guilty surprise.

 

“... okay, Frank, we’re going to skip right past the ‘what the fuck’ and move on to the ‘why’?” Karen said with a sharper than average tone, which Frank really had to admit that he deserved. It only got worse when Billy answered before he did, shit eating grin and all.

 

“Bondage. Our boy here has a real kink.” 

 

Frank was seriously considering killing him (yet again), but Karen just narrowed her eyes, answering with perfect intention. 

 

“Oh really? Looking forward to  _ that _ , then.”

 

Billy shut his mouth abruptly. 

 

Frank opened his, ready to comply with her frankly  _ reasonable  _ request when suddenly there was that moment of silence, of stillness, that all three of them recognized instinctively, because no one in that room was uninitiated to violence. There was no time to shout, only to act. Frank dove to cover Karen on the ground in a now familiar motion, his leg kicking out to knock down Billy’s chair as a rain of bullets shattered the windows.

 

War had found them once again.


	3. blue skies from pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we have shooting! Tense exchanges! Broken security deposits! Sweet and tender Kastle before a surprise appearance!
> 
> A huge shout out to karenpage and redbelles (on tumblr) for being amazing readers who put up with my tears and fears that what I'm writing is bad and no good. <3 I love you guys.

Wood splinters. Glass shatters. Frank Castle protects Karen Page, just like he has so many times before, at least once in a situation  _ exactly  _ like this, and he wonders just how many times a woman has to have her apartment shot up by unknown assailants. It didn’t seem fair, it didn’t seem right because it just wasn’t. Karen deserved so much better than this.

 

Better than him.

 

But there wasn’t any time for a crisis of conscience about their relationship, not when it was quite literally a firefight, the gun in his hand useless since the shots were coming from the building next door and even trying suppressing fire wouldn’t do a damn big of good. Automatic, high caliber, likely three shooters. Same MO as last time which rattled him, because he had been so sure there was nothing left of the Blacksmith, of Orange.

 

Well. Nothing except for the man in the chair, now looking at Frank with wide, black eyes. He was lucky, because there was a bookcase behind him that had stunted the first volley of fire but it wouldn’t hold for long.

 

And they both knew it.

 

“Oh,  _ come on _ , Frank.” There was panic in Billy’s voice, something more feral that even that night on the carousel, and that was pretty goddamned unsettling. “Do you really think I’d put myself in the middle of the  _ goddamned crossfire  _ if I could help it?” That much at least rang pretty goddamned true. Billy Russo was a self-serving opportunistic asshole, and there was no way he’d throw himself into the line of gunfire if he could help it.

 

Probably. Unless he was taking a calculated risk. And Frank hated that he really couldn’t be sure  either way. If just his own life was on the line, that would be one thing, but the woman trapped beneath him was not going to die. Not today.

 

(Not because of him. Not again.)

 

The gunfire stopped, and Frank listened, his eyes fixed on Billy’s unfocused ones as he continued to cradle Karen’s head. There wasn’t the call to reload, the expected chaos of a battlefront firefight. This was an assassination attempt.

 

A really, really shitty one.

 

Billy was shouting, but Frank’s ears were ringing in that way had nothing to do with noise. He wasn’t really there. He was in Kandahar, he was in Central Park --

 

He had to be here. Karen  _ needed him here _ .

 

Almost violently pulling himself out of the fugue, he only leveraged himself off Karen when he was sure the bullets weren’t about to start again. Clips had been emptied, but there were no rules saying they didn’t have a second set ready to go. So he waits, heart pounding in his ears, Karen’s breathing erratic beneath him but not distressed, she hadn’t been hit, then he gets up enough to reach for the bag he’d insisted she keep by the door. Weapons. Money. Essentials.

 

Billy thrashed.

 

“Frank, let me help, I’m begging you,  _ let me help _ , don’t leave me here--” It went on and on with a panicked note that was nothing like the plaintive demand that night he’d last seen Russo, to just kill him. To let him die. This was terror, pure and simple. It wasn’t Billy Russo who had orchestrated the whims of Agent Orange on American soil. It wasn’t even Lt. Russo who always had Castle’s six. He was scared. Billy was never scared, not really.

 

It wasn’t the Billy Russo that let the Castle family die in those eyes. 

 

But Frank hesitated anyway. Maybe he wasn’t Frank just then either, maybe he couldn’t be anymore. Maybe he was Lt. Castle, or even the Punisher, and there was a large part of him that wanted that man to die. While he focused on getting Karen out, his eyes went back to the prone man struggling now to get out of the zip ties. The man who had been his brother. The man who had been willing to look the other way when Maria and the kids were killed.

 

Frank was paralyzed by indecision. But Karen wasn’t.

 

She pulled a knife from the block on her counter, freeing Russo with a quick, rough motion, then looking the other man in the eyes with that fierce, piercing way of hers.

 

“You have one chance. One. After that, you know him. And you know what will happen.”

 

Billy stood up, his hands still up cautiously, eyes fixed on Karen’s and he nodded, swallowing back whatever flippant bullshit he had been about to fling. Frank kept the gun trained on him all the same.

 

There was no way this was going to be easy.

 

+++

 

The car ride was tense. 

 

Frank sat in the back with Billy, the gun still pointed at the man who Maria had once called part of their family. Frank also sat behind Karen, keeping Billy to the far side, the other man’s hands shaking, and everyone was quiet.

 

It was Karen who finally broke the silence.

 

“I need to know where we’re going, Frank. And I swear to Christ, the next security deposit,  _ you’re  _ paying.” Her voice sounded more tired than frustrated, and Frank felt like he could choke on the guilt. Billy was just staring ahead, caught in the grip of something, some fugue and it wasn’t like Frank could even blame him for it at this point.

 

Everything had gotten messy. Hell, who was he kidding, everything  _ had  _ been messy before this. Now it was just acute. In his face. Impossible to ignore.

 

“Curt’s church basement. I already texted him from the burner.” That he’d thrown into the dumpster just before they’d taken off, trying to manage the crisis in his own way at least, even if there's roiling in his gut to have to put Curtis in danger over this,  _ especially  _ with Billy in play. There just aren’t a lot of options right now.

 

Only anger that’s looking for an outlet.

 

“The  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you, Russo?” He’s shouting, he knows that he’s shouting but at least he has the presence of mind (just barely) to not do it into Karen’s ear. “Bringing that shit to her apartment, huh? You had to know they were following you. Was that your game, huh?”

 

Billy just stared ahead, not at Karen, not at the road. Frank knew that stare perfectly well, the way you could just leave yourself for awhile without meaning to, without even realizing it. Russo was a million miles away, somewhere Frank couldn’t reach no matter how much he yelled.

 

Didn’t mean he didn’t want to try. But Billy spoke, even if it wasn’t directly to Frank, his eyes still distant. Lost.

 

“Didn’t really think it was possible. Thought maybe they were making it up, all of it. That I’d get here and it wouldn’t be real. But it is. I did it, all of it. Which means I deserve it, too.” It’s not pleading, asking for pity. It’s not anything. Billy’s voice is flat, the normal bravado and humor and brash confidence was just gone, completely absent.

 

Broken.

 

He’s not focused, but he finally looked over at Frank with an expression that he just couldn’t read because it’s not one he’s ever seen on Billy Russo’s face. In spite of  _ everything _ that the bastard had done to him, everything that he’d lost because of the man in front of him, there was a spark of something like pity that Frank had to work to ignore.

 

“I won’t pretend that I can fix what I did.” Billy ducked his head, not in shame or even regret. More like resignation. “I won’t pretend you can forgive me or trust me. Not that stupid, Frankie.” He looked forward again, eyes unfocused but his jaw a little more set. Like he’d come to some kind of internal decision, and all Frank wanted to do was punch him in his goddamned face.

 

“Get off the cross, Christ,” Frank muttered, looking forward too as Karen’s hands flexed on the wheel. He was angry, but at this point more at himself than anything else because he wanted to be able to hate Billy free and clear, without any sense of guilt, especially fucking misplaced guilt for knocking something loose in the man who was responsible for so much death. Frank just deflected. It’s what he did best, really. 

 

“So what’s your plan to get around Fisk, huh? You got some big idea here, since you had to have broken out of wherever they had you holed up. Guessing they know you’re out.”

 

Billy looked up, some animation coming back to his haunted features, a ghost of the grin he always had ready. It was like seeing a shadow of the man that Frank had known in the Marines, but somehow that just made him more dangerous, made Frank more uncertain.

 

“That’s the thing. I convinced that doc to help me get out. Some bullshit about coming after you for wronging me, and she bought it.” Billy almost seemed excited. “She’s convinced it’s all working, Frankie. So we let her lead us to the right people, and we take this Fisk asshole out from the inside.”

 

Frank just stared.

 

“Are you fucking  _ kidding _ me, Russo? You’re expecting me to let  _ you  _ play double agent? After everything, you’re saying I should trust you to work with Fisk? You know they just followed you, right? That you led them right back to Karen  _ already _ .” Even as Frank said it though, he knew that part at least wasn’t right. They knew exactly where Karen was already, and if Billy was telling the truth, the hit was already scheduled and he just didn’t know about it when he tried to find Frank. Hell, it pointed out another weakness in Fisk’s current operations if they didn’t realize that Frank Castle was more or less living with Karen Page these days.

 

They’d have come with a lot more guns if they had.

 

Billy held his hands up in something near surrender, shaking his head. “You’re not getting it, Frankie. I’m not asking you to trust my honor. We both know I don’t have any.” His voice was tight at that, as if admitting it out loud cost him a  _ lot _ . “I’m saying trust that I’m a realist. That I’m a selfish piece of shit who is going to do whatever I can to stay alive. That I’ve done the numbers, and I know that you’re the one walking away from this, not him. And maybe -- just fucking maybe, I’m not looking a second chance in the mouth. I failed you and Maria and the kids once. I don’t know why I did it. I can’t fucking justify it anyway, and we both know that. But this time,  _ this time _ , I’m trying to make the right call. Even if you shoot me right now, I guess I can take that away from this. That this time, I tried.”

 

He’d always been a hell of an actor. Frank watched as there was a shimmer in those coal black eyes, and all he could think of was a shark. Billy Russo had been like a brother to him, and the betrayal had cut deeper than any knife could. Sitting in the back of Karen’s car, wishing to God he was anywhere else, having to decide if he could take this fucking risk.

 

His eyes met Karen’s in the rear view mirror, and she managed to nod without moving her head at all, those piercing blue eyes of her meeting his with complete understanding. She knew. She got it. And so did he.

 

Frank sighed.

 

“Can the tears, Russo. I’m not shooting you. Right now, anyway. But you heard her back there, Bill. You get one chance.  _ One _ .”

 

He didn’t bother following with a threat. They all knew what wasn’t being said.

 

+++

 

“I swear to Christ, Castle. The shit you get yourself in the middle of.”

 

Frank had suffered that complaint (and several dozen others in the same vein) as Curtis stitched up the deep graze Frank hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten on his upper arm. Karen had a graze on her leg, Billy had two or three but had elected to go last because he was clearly trying to prove he was a bigger martyr than Murdock now.

 

Which sure as fuck wouldn’t get annoying.

 

Curt tied off the last of the sutures, then nudged Frank towards where Karen was sitting, staring out the window after getting off the phone to who he had to assume was Nelson. “Get over there, dumbass. Go see about your girl while I patch up this asshole, okay?”

 

Curtis had agreed to help Billy, although the look he gave Frank clearly stated that he thought Castle had lost his damn mind. Frank was inclined to agree, and was more than willing to look away if his care wasn’t exactly gentle.

 

He had bigger things to worry about.

 

Karen smiled up at him with that way of hers, the one that hit him in the gut every time, and Frank didn’t feel a little bit worthy of it. He probably never would, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to see it every day. He sat down in the chair opposite of her, reaching out for Karen’s outstretched hand. “So, about that security deposit...”

 

She laughed, and even if it was a little brittle it helped the constriction Frank felt in his chest, strangling him by inches. “Frank, it’s fine. I really don’t think I can blame Fisk on you. That mess started long before we met.” Her thumb stroked the back of his knuckles, closing her eyes for a moment. 

 

“I talked to Foggy, and he’s running interference with the NYPD. Brett is looped in, and agrees that keeping me off any grid right now is a good idea, even if he made it very clear he doesn’t want to know which grid I happen to be on now.” She laughed again, even though her tears were obvious, and Frank reached up to brush them away.

 

He didn’t see Billy watching them from the far side of the room, his expression unreadable. Curtis did, though, and he didn’t have the slightest idea what to make of it. He did bandage one of Russo’s arms a little tighter than needed to force him to wince and look away, though. Privacy wasn’t something they could afford right now, but the asshole didn’t need to be staring at them either.

 

Billy looked at the floor.

 

“Yeah, well. You know I’m not going to let that bald fuck do anything to you, Karen. I promise. We’ll come up with a plan.” They always did. Frank let his thumb linger against her cheek, pulling her closer so their foreheads touched. They always did this, too. A quiet moment in a warzone, an elevator, a church basement after a shooting. He really knew how to court a woman, and he would have chuckled if there wasn’t such a heavy weight in his chest just then, keeping it back.

 

He looked over at Russo.

 

“I know I can’t trust him. Not really. But he might be our best shot to at least figure out how Fisk is  _ still  _ coming at you. I didn’t think he’d manage to get a new network up this goddamned fast.”

 

Karen’s fingers tightened in Frank’s, their hands joined in her lap like they weren’t in a dingy church basement, getting patched up after being shot. Hell, this was practically normal for them. “Frank, I’m not asking you to trust him, believe me. But I also don’t think that is the Billy Russo that I met months ago either. I mean, we only met for a few minutes in that hotel and his arrogance was ridiculous, but this? You knocked something loose, sure. It’s more than that, though. I really don’t think he remembers it. Any of it. He might not be the man you remember either. And I guess I can trust that at least. Mostly.”

 

Frank nodded, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he’d trusted Billy with the woman he loved. With the family he cherished. The idea of leaving Karen to that same sort of ‘trust’ was too much, and he held her hand in both of his now, trying to keep from shaking.

 

None of them heard the door open. None of them heard the silent advance of a woman who didn’t want to be heard before she intended to be. Dinah Madani stood in the doorway, her gun out and pointed right at Billy Russo’s head, her expression one of mixed disbelief and hatred.

 

“Russo. All of you. Get on the ground with your hands behind your head.  _ Now _ .”


	4. can you tell a green field

All things considered, Frank figured they were lucky Madani only shot Billy the  _ one  _ time.

 

And while Madani had every  _ right  _ to shoot Billy Russo, it wasn’t as if she was some enraged, irrational woman scorned either. She was a professional, a law enforcement agent, and a clear thinker in any set of circumstances, which is why Billy deciding it was a good idea to run was such a goddamned stupid idea. Frank couldn’t figure out why the man thought he  _ could  _ run when he should know by now what a good agent she was, but then it occurred to him.

 

Billy didn’t know Madani at all anymore. 

 

So Russo froze for a second then darted to the side towards the door, like a beast cornered because he absolutely was, and Frank found himself shouting at her to not shoot, because today had been a goddamned nightmare already and if they lost their one lead into what Fisk was planning it sure as hell wasn’t about to get better.

 

_ I’m the only chance you’ve got of saving Karen Page’s life. _

 

He isn’t sure in hindsight if he distracted her (Frank honestly doubted it) or if Madani’s own understandably mixed feelings were in play, but they got lucky. The shot winged the fleshy part of his upper thigh as Billy Russo bit the ground with a scream of pain, and Dinah charged forward to pin him to the ground, cuffs out.

 

“Billy Russo, you are under goddamned arrest.  _ Again _ .” She looked up at Frank, eyes blazing. “And I don’t know what the actual fuck is wrong with you right now, Castle, but you’re going to join him if you don’t have an explanation and  _ quick _ .” 

 

Frank knew the situation sat right on the razor’s edge, so he put his hands up, gun pointed towards the ceiling in his hand, finger off the trigger. “Madani, I know I’m asking a  _ lot _ but you gotta trust me. Fisk isn’t locked down like he’s supposed to be, and Russo is the only connection we’ve got right now. His psychologist is dirty, and if you check your voicemail, you’ve got two waiting from me. I wasn’t keeping you out of the loop or anything, but obviously we got a lot up in the air right now.” He didn’t look away, didn’t prevaricate, fully aware he was using what Karen jokingly called his ‘dad voice’. The  _ calm down _ voice. The  _ please don’t kill me  _ voice, pretty literal right at that moment.

 

“Please. You gotta trust me, Madani. The bald fuck is coming after Karen again.”

 

For an agent, a spook, Frank had always been kind of startled by how expressive Dinah Madani’s face could be. She was  _ furious _ , and had every right to be, but there was understanding there, something that was almost soft around her eyes, even as her knee sat right on Billy Russo’s spine, grinding him into the concrete flooring. In other circumstances, it would have been a hilarious tableau but Frank knew a hell of a lot better than to laugh.

 

Madani’s jaw set, but she nodded at Frank as she got back to her feet, hauling Billy with her. “Explain everything. I’m not kidding when I say I do not have patience for any bullshit. Start at the beginning, don’t leave anything out.” She turned her attention to Billy who was staring at her with understandable fear and awe, as Madani conveyed such fury even Frank found himself a little cowed.

 

“Don’t think I won’t put you down. Don’t think there’s any affection here that’s going to hold me back. As soon as we figure out what you’re really up to, I’m going to put you in the  _ ground _ , Russo. We clear?”

 

Frank had known Billy a long time. He’d never seen the man look that afraid before, but Billy  nodded, limping over to where Curtis could tend to this latest wound. Karen stood up finally, shaking slightly but with a nod to Dinah that Frank wasn’t sure how to read before speaking up.

 

“Considering we just had a gunshot go off, I’m hoping you’ve got some kind of backup out there that will keep the NYPD out of here, or we’re going to be sitting ducks, yeah?” In spite of himself, Frank couldn’t help a warm rush of affection, because in the middle of all this bullshit, there was Karen, two steps ahead.

 

Madani nodded. “Don’t worry, it’s handled, and no one heard this outside anyway.” She held up the firearm, the silencer visible even from across the room. Didn’t do shit to those standing around it, but at least next door wouldn’t have heard the shot. That gave them some time.

 

Just not much.

 

“Guessing you have some idea what happened, or you wouldn’t be here.” Frank realized, slightly belatedly, that for Madani to have tracked them here something had to have gone wrong, and Billy might not be the resource he thought he was. “You intercept something from the hospital or what?”

 

Dinah didn’t put down her SIG, glaring up at Frank. “You think I don’t have my own eyes on that hospital with his  _ stupid  _ ass held there? Dumont is the last person who should have been assigned to his case, and she was anyway. Tried my damnedest to get her reassigned and I got stonewalled. Every part of this has felt wrong, and now this.” She took a deep breath, Frank thought it must be to steady herself and he made a point of standing still, of looking contrite. “I saw his switch, how he got out of that hospital and followed. Quietly. Didn’t need the NYPD up my ass.” She added the last bit under her breath, eyes still focused on Billy’s hunched form in the chair, his own black eyes locked with hers.

 

God, he was  _ afraid _ . Frank almost felt sorry for him.

 

Almost.

 

“Yeah, that was the right call. Not for nothing, but this is a mess without them sticking their noses in.” Frank exhaled roughly, stepping back so he could take Karen’s hand briefly before turning his focus back to Madani. “Look, on our end it went like this: Russo showed up at Karen’s, telling me that Fisk was coming after her. The second Karen got home, her place got shot up. We got out of there, got Curtis to patch us up, and then you got here. We’re still figuring things out. Fisk is up to something, that much is clear. Took him less than six months to take another crack at Karen. Russo is offering to help us with what he knows, and so far it seems like his intel isn’t bad.”

 

Even if the messenger left a lot to be desired.

 

Madani was about to ask a question when Billy laughed, without humor, cutting through the basement with a slightly unsettling note that set Frank on edge. “Yeah, and we know about bad intel, don’t we, Frankie?” There it was again, that old camaraderie that was so wildly out of place, but not to Russo. “Fuckin’ Kandahar all over again.” He was grinning, and for whatever reason, that was what lit the match. Frank’s temper erupted. It had gotten better, that rage that bubbled just under the surface, and most days he could control it. 

 

But right now he just didn’t give a shit.

 

“ **_DON’T_ ** . Don’t  _ fucking  _ act like it’s all the same when you know goddamned well that it’s  **not** , Russo! Don’t pretend that just because  _ you  _ don’t remember it that it happened.” He was in his face, fire and fury, fists at his sides as he stared down the taller man who was standing now in shock, in silence.

 

It had never mattered that Frank was the shorter of the two. It sure didn’t matter now.

 

They squared off for almost half a minute, the tension in the room heavy before Billy ducked his head, stepping back with a nod, a half whispered  _ yeah  _ that could barely be heard as he sat down, staring forward again, staring at nothing.

 

Frank didn’t feel relieved or vindicated, he just felt tired. So goddamned tired he could barely breathe, but he turned around, his back to Russo, focus again on Madani and Karen because he couldn’t begin to process this, not right now. Maybe not ever. He sort of felt it was bullshit he had to try at all. He ran a hand over his face, muttering under his breath.

 

“I’m not saying this is a great plan, but it’s the one we got. I figure you guys put a wire on Russo while he talks to Dumont, we get more information, we figure out where to go next. He knows his life is literally on the fucking line, and if I can trust Billy Russo to do anything, it’s making sure that he survives.” There’s a lot of venom in the  _ he _ of that statement.

 

Madani’s eyes narrowed on Billy, still sitting there, staring at the space in front of him without seeing anything. They weren’t focused, expression dull. The scarring seemed to fade into his skin, he’d gone so pale, and Frank fought the urge to hit him, he was so angry. There was a lot of shit he could handle, but not this.

 

Billy Russo didn’t get to make this about  _ him. _

 

Karen reached out, her hand on his arm and it’s like a cool rush of relief, even though his shoulder tensed and he looked at her with an expression that was a little lost. It wasn’t any kind of magic, it wasn’t anything but a reminder he wasn’t alone in this. He wasn’t alone at all anymore.

 

So he breathed in. Breathed out. Nodded, and turned back to Dinah.

 

Madani finally put away her gun, clearly still furious at the situation but keeping her temper in check far better than Frank at this exact second. She ran a hand through her hair, then looked up at him with a grim sort of determination. “Look. This is one hell of a leap of faith you’re asking from me, Castle. One of those voicemails, it about what I think it’s about? Because I can sell this a lot easier if it is.”

 

Frank had told Karen about Madani’s offer, about his own hesitation with taking it before. To take on wet work for the CIA, to be exactly what he’d been for Rawlins, no matter how much they tried to dress it up otherwise. He owed Madani a lot, and he could trust her.

 

But he couldn’t trust them all.

 

“I was asking for more time. I need this on my terms, Madani. Not saying no. Just not saying yes yet either.” He looked over at Karen, who nodded back at him before looking at Dinah, hoping to hell she’d understand.

 

Dinah took a deep breath, closing her eyes for an agonizing moment before snapping them open again, glaring at Frank outright. “Okay. Okay, I get it. But I’m involved in this whole thing, you hear me? No discussion on that point. This isn’t some black book bullshit you’re running without oversight. We send him in, wired, recording. Get the information we need to prosecute, and then his ass goes back to jail. Not the hospital,  _ jail _ . We clear?”

 

Frank nodded. “Yeah. We’re clear.”

 

Billy didn’t react, he just stared forward. Frank didn’t look at him either.

 

+++

 

It takes awhile to work out logistics. Madani takes Billy to a CIA safehouse where she can keep an eye on him, no questions asked. Curtis heads home after giving Frank a very significant look that he really has no idea how the hell to read, so he doesn’t try. Frank and Karen hole up in a relatively shitty motel, the two story, windows on either side, doors facing outside, although they were on the bottom floor. Easier to escape, if they had to, and he hated the fact that they just might have to, Madani’s team watching the hotel notwithstanding.

 

He felt a little caged, but not by the woman who had just dropped her bag on the single bed, exhausted but giving him a raised eyebrow at the arrangements.

 

“You need a shower.” Karen didn’t pull any punches, but she wasn’t wrong either. Frank knew he’d feel better after washing up, but he also hated the idea of being that vulnerable, that exposed in the middle of this mess. He still had blood and shattered glass in his hair, he probably smelled like sweat and death, but to take a shower would mean Karen was out in the bedroom alone.

 

And he really couldn’t deal with that.

 

“I’ll go, uh, wash up --” he started to say when Karen pulled him in by the front of his shirt, still with that raised eyebrow as she kissed him lightly. 

 

“C’mon. We both could use one,” Karen said with a certain level of firmness, and as hot as it was (and it  _ was  _ hot) Frank knew better than to try and argue. To put up the grim and dark worries about the forces trying to marshal against them as a barrier between them, which would be so easy. To let it interrupt yet again what had long felt like the best kind of inevitable. Frank was so good at building walls, at detaching from himself and staying unavailable to the people he loved most of all. He could do that so easily again, to insist that he had to keep watch or something. But he didn’t  _ want _ to. For the first time in years, he wanted with a need that scared him.

 

So instead of pulling away, Frank wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning in to bunt his forehead against hers. Holding on for dear life as his heart beat a steady tattoo against his ribs.

 

“I mean, didn’t want to say anything, y’know.” He was grinning a little sheepishly, teasing her right back but trying to make it clear that he got it. He understood. And Christ, he was more than ready. “Got some drywall in your hair there, gorgeous. Maybe you let me take care of that, yeah?”

 

It’s not what he had pictured for their first time together. That didn’t make it bad, though.

 

There were little things that surprised him, watching her get ready for the shower. Turning on the water first so it could get warm while they undressed, letting her hair down and shaking it loose in a way that just about did him in then and there. Frank was a little more utilitarian, stripping in a way that wasn’t erotic or anything, but he did end up groaning when a stitch tugged.

 

Karen just reached over to touch his shoulder, thumb brushing over the graze before sliding down his arm, tugging him gently into the shower with her.

 

It was strange how it didn’t feel strange at all to be naked in front of her, every scar and injury exposed. For a long, long moment, Frank just held her in the spray of warm water from a thankfully strong shower, and Karen let her fingers trace the old scar on his arm before remembering what it was from.

The shrapnel in his arm from Lewis’ bomb in that hotel basement, when he shielded her on the floor as the world came down around them. The tips of her fingers skirted over the raised skin, and she looked up at him with eyes wide and understanding.

 

Frank just kissed her, because this wasn’t a moment he wanted the past intruding on.

 

It’s hard to say when the moment changed. When it shifted from gentle touches, soft passes with the washcloth Karen had the presence of mind to grab before they came in, getting rid of the dried blood and dust from the shooting. Every wound stung, but not nearly as badly as it might. He really hadn’t come into this hotel room with the intention of getting laid tonight, almost the exact opposite, but now that the wheels were in motion he wouldn’t let a few grazes ruin the night.

 

Not enough to stop him from kissing down her throat, from splaying his hands against her hips. Karen responded to every touch, head falling back against the tile as she urged him on, demanding more, and he was more than willing to give.

 

The shower was never ideal for this kind of thing, no matter what movies and porn tried to tell people. Frank knew better than to try their first time together in a shitty motel shower. He pulled her against him, nudging her cheek with his nose gently as he encouraged her legs around his waist, walking them out to the bed that would suit them much, much better.

 

Karen’s hair was wet, and he didn’t want the bed soaked for them to sleep in later, but he was acting on instinct now rather than planning, reaction rather than intention. Frank covered her body with his, lost in sensation he’d denied himself for far, far too fucking long. It was just this side of overwhelming, being in control, being afraid of fucking it all up, but Karen wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who was going to take a back seat to anyone, not even him. 

 

He wouldn’t want it any other way.

 

Karen nudged him until Frank rolled over and she was outright grinning down at him like she’d just won a prize. Maybe she had, but he didn’t have that high of an opinion of himself. Like a sudden shot, he realized what they were missing and opened his mouth to point it out but Karen just shook her head.

 

“Um, -- I’m on the pill, Frank. And I trust you. It’s fine.” Her cheeks were pink. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want but I ---”

 

He surged up to kiss her again, because they’d talked more than enough, and waited far too long as it was. Frank’s arms were around her waist, his cock already hard between them, and neither of them were patient people.

 

She whispered his name against his lips, and it was all Frank could do to breathe.

 

It had been a long while, and there was a part of him that had been almost sure he’d fuck this up. That he’d move too fast, that he’d cum too fast, that he’d leave her unsatisfied. The last woman Frank Castle had been with had been his wife, and that had been years ago at this point. He worried he’d forgotten what to do or how to move, but those worries seemed ridiculous once they were in the moment. Karen understood. Karen had understood all along, had always been there waiting for him to catch up to where he wanted to be.

 

Which was with her.

 

When they came together, Frank had to hold still to keep from embarrassing himself, like he was some goddamned teenager again. She surrounded him, overwhelmed him, every sense consumed by her. Karen Page had found him at his lowest point and rebuilt him with love and care, never once demanding anything for herself, not even a declaration of how much she meant to him.

 

He had to show her. 

 

Frank’s hand was fisted in her hair as he kissed down her throat, every arch of their hips, every breathless sigh against skin a testament to all the things he couldn’t say out loud, afraid that his love was a curse. But Karen seemed to understand anyway, because she always did. Her nails bit into his shoulders, riding him hard yet smiling breathlessly, murmuring with affection that didn’t always sound like actual words but got the idea across just fine.

 

He remembered how to touch a woman after all, how his fingers should tease and his cock should angle. He must not have let Karen down at all, because he knew his girl and she would never pretend for the sake of his ego. She shattered, bucking above him just as his own peak started, a rough shout against her throat as she collapsed atop him.

 

He’s not really sure how long they sat there, entangled in each other’s arms, holding each other like it would cause them pain to pull apart. Maybe it would. He didn’t really feel like trying. But eventually, Frank’s skin started to turn cold and he could tell Karen was shaking a little. The comforter was on the floor, and with a little manoeuvring he could get it back up and around them pretty easily.

 

He didn’t want to pull away. Not yet.

 

Karen seemed to feel the same way, her fingertips on his cheeks as she gently kissed him, nuzzling against his five o’clock shadow that Frank worried might be too rough against her soft skin. She didn’t pull away though, and Frank knew better than to assume.

 

Her arms finally settled around his waist, sitting in his lap with those impossibly blue eyes focused on him, and it was all he could do to drink her in, a little crooked smile on his face because he had no right to think this would be how the day would end up.

 

“See,” Karen said breathlessly, with a little laugh in her tone, “I had a certain vision of how we’d finish today, and I just really couldn’t be swayed from it, Castle.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, fingers carding through his hair.  _ Christ _ , he was glad he grew it out. Frank couldn’t help his chuckle.

 

“Yeah, me too. Had this whole big plan for the bag of groceries that have gone bad in your apartment. Was gonna cook you dinner, light some candles, y’know. The whole nine yards.” He knew he sounded just a little melancholy about it, not that this was somehow bad.

 

He just hated that for whatever reason, this city had it out for Karen Page.

 

But Karen just put a finger on his lips, shaking her head a little. “I like this. I like  _ you _ , Frank. You think any part of this isn’t up to my world class standards or something?” She bunted her forehead against his, her next words softer. “You think I haven’t fantasized about this exact moment for awhile now?” Her cheeks were a little pink, and Frank kissed her. Deeply.

 

How could he not?

 

“Yeah, well. Maybe you’re not the only one.”

 

+++

 

The next morning Billy and Frank sat in Madani’s SUV, waiting for her to return from checking in with whoever it was she had to check in with. Billy was already wired up, the silence tense but preferred to any attempt at conversation, at least by Frank. He wouldn’t dream of trying to speak for Billy at this point.

 

But silence was never Bill’s strong suit, and eventually he turned his head to Frank. He wasn’t looking at him, more like past him, but there was something in his dark eyes that was almost amused.

 

“Guess they were right. You’d do anything to protect her, even put up with me.”

 

Stuck in his own head, those words can only raise alarm for Frank, and it takes everything in him to not pull his gun on Russo then and there. “Mind explaining that, asshole?” Considering the night before, one would think he’d be in a better mood, but having to sit in a car next to the man who had betrayed him more deeply than anyone apparently could damper even that memory.

 

“Relax.” As if he could, but Billy had always been singularly focused, and that focus was only on himself. “I don’t have any desire to kill you and especially not this Page woman, Frank, but I get why she was pushing me to it. When I would dream, after I woke up from the coma, no one would tell me shit. I was under arrest, I was charged with crimes they would inform me of after I was ‘deemed able to stand trial’, I had been injured in a fight. But no one, not just Dumont would tell me any details. And every night, I’d dream. Dream of a shadow just out of my sight, a kind of dark presence that wanted me dead. That  _ hated  _ me. She kept telling me I would have to remember, that it would mean more when I remembered myself but I think now she just wanted me defensive. Afraid. Afraid of you so I would hate you more. And if I hadn’t read that file, I probably would.”

 

He stared ahead again, hands in his lap, looking less like a terrifying SpecOps sniper and more like the lost kid kicked around the system for years that Frank had met so many years ago. But Frank knew better than to be fooled.

 

Even if part of him still hoped it was true. That all of it was true, and Russo was back on his six instead of in his crosshairs. He knew better, though. Knew better than to  _ hope _ for anything but a betrayal, the second it suited Billy’s purposes. So Frank pushed that hope down deep, knowing that he couldn’t afford to be that wrong again.

 

“Can the sentimental shit, Russo. She’s dirty, Madani confirmed that, but you read the file. You know what you did, even if you don’t remember it. Doesn’t change a goddamned thing.” His voice was gruff, defensive, and he looked out the window to keep from getting angrier. 

 

But Billy never had known when to let it go.

 

“It’s not sentimental shit, Frank. They know you would do anything to protect her, and they’re going to use it against you. Wanted me to unbalance you, wanted to attack her to draw you out. You’re right in their sights, Frankie.” There was something almost like worry in his voice, and the absurdity took Frank’s breath away.

 

“You know, you piece of shit, last time you didn’t give me that warning in time, right?” His voice was clipped, sharp. A shattered piece of mirror that would cut up a pretty face and leave Billy bleeding and broken because he  _ deserved it _ . “Maria, the kids, they’re in the ground because you didn’t tell me. You stood by and let it happen. So don’t think this somehow makes us square, you hear me?”

 

He was angry. He was still hurt. But Frank half wondered if he wasn’t saying this to keep himself that way, to make sure that he didn’t let Billy in close. To risk letting himself believe that things might be different this time, because leopards sure as hell didn’t change their spots.

 

Billy didn’t seem particularly phased.

 

“Never thought it did, Frankie.” His voice was quiet, deflated. That was probably the most unsettling part about this whole mess. Billy Russo was a man who practically radiated confidence, and it was just gone, except for a flicker here and there but nothing like what it once was. It was like a shadow of the man he’d thought he’d known, drawing into stark clarity the fact he hadn’t known him at all. 

 

“But I’m going to see this through anyway.” 

 

Madani came back at that exact moment, all business, turning to look at the two in the backseat. “Karen will remain at HQ while we work. She’s secure.” Her eyes meet Frank’s, the assurance she’s tried to give him rang hollow when he knew just how many ‘secure’ buildings Karen had been attacked in. But he nodded, because there was nothing else to do.

 

Billy pulled out something from his jacket, and Frank reached for his gun until he saw what it was: a white mask with black marker drawn all over it. It looked like some kind of jigsaw puzzle. Russo swallowed, and slid the mask over his scarred face.

 

“Let’s get going. Daylight’s burning.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd like to thank the brilliant karenpage and redbelles for all their support as I rambled endlessly about this nonsense. The fic is now fully outlined so hopefully updates will come a little faster from here on out (she says, wildly optimistic.) Things are about to get a lot worse for Billy before things get better, but I think we can all agree that makes sense. But stay tuned! 
> 
> Please feel free to follow me on tumblr (foggiestnelson) and let me know any feedback!


	5. from a cold steel rail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Madani listen while Billy confronts Krista and tries to get information about her benefactor. But Dr. Dumont has a few surprises of her own. Things are significantly worse than anyone thought.
> 
> Please note that this chapter has some mention of past child sexual assault and might be triggering.

It’s more than a little surreal, watching Billy with a white, expressionless mask only just visible under a black hoodie, trudging away from the SUV. Frank hated that he knew the way Billy had shoulders squared was a sign of deep worry, not the usual Russo bravado. He hated all of this, really. That didn’t mean he could just look away, though.

 

Madani’s people had wired him up with some kind of tech that was near invisible, but it was still just audio. Go in, get the intel about the next hit, get out. One way, no communication possible but there was some kind of deterrent built in, Frank knew that. Madani had made it clear that if he went too off script, she’d blow Russo’s goddamned head off with the flip of a switch.

 

Neither man thought that to be an empty threat.

 

So there Frank sat, nervously in the front seat of Madani’s tac-van, trying to stay calm. The whole situation required him to trust a man he knew for a fact he could not, and he was just waiting on the betrayal. For Russo to show his true colors, once again. It took everything in Frank to trust Karen’s judgment on letting him at least act as contact, and rationally he understood that at this stage, there wasn’t a lot of risk for them. Russo was the one walking into the danger, and if he turned on them, they hadn’t put a lot on the line.

 

And all the same, Frank’s stomach was tight. Anxious.

 

“What’s your take on all this, Madani?” The silence was actually getting to him, which wasn’t normal. Frank had waited out literal hundreds of targets over the years in complete silence and solitude, and he wasn’t one to chatter. This just felt different, though. It wasn’t waiting out a target, it was waiting out a man he didn’t know anymore, just to see what he did next.

 

He didn’t have an answer for what he’d do if Karen turned out to be right. 

 

Madani was tapping a nail on the steering wheel, just as unnerved as Frank was, from the looks of things. “He’s a snake. We know better than to trust him, but even if he’s leading us into something I’m confident we can get back out.” She laughed, without humor. “But I’ll tell you something, Frank. I knew something was wrong with that psychologist. Her being there at  _ all  _ stunk to high heaven because she’s flying in the face of procedure and getting away with it. We’ve had high value targets in custody with medical issues before, but their physicians never got to just --- flout us like she has. If Fisk really is behind this, he’s got more power than I would think possible after what he’s gone through the past month.”

 

Frank nodded, exhaling roughly. That was the part that infuriated him and terrified him in equal measure. Russo’s involvement was bad enough. To know that Fisk was likely as free as he ever was less than a  _ week  _ after Murdock’s posturing to take him down the ‘right way’ was enough to make him puke.

 

He was sick of the choir boy playing chicken with Karen’s life. It had been too damned close last time as it was, and Frank wasn’t going to let the bald asshole get this close again. Not on his watch. Murdock might not want to cross a line, but Frank had all but leaped over that particular one years ago. He’d promised Fisk the last time that they met that the next time, only one of them was walking away.

 

And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Fisk.

 

Through the car’s speakers came a sharp rap at the door, and Dinah and Frank both stilled, pulled out of their respective brooding as Russo arrived at the doorway. Whatever was going on in that asshole’s mind was anyone’s guess, as far as Frank could tell. It didn’t really matter.

 

It was showtime.

 

+++

 

The mask itched.

 

It hadn’t at first. It had helped, made him feel safe in this new skin that didn’t fit close to right. Billy Russo had woken up in panic and pain, in a body that didn’t feel right with a mind that wasn’t whole, and the mask had helped. He’d drawn on it how he felt. Incomplete. Fragmented.

 

Broken.

 

But the mask didn’t help right then, not when he was facing someone he didn’t  _ want  _ to face in order to win the trust of someone he knew that he couldn’t. More than couldn’t, didn’t deserve to, not that it mattered. He’d always been a selfish son of a bitch, and this was just another step in that line.

 

He was doing what he had to in order to survive, and had no illusions about it being  _ right _ . He and  _ right  _ had parted ways a long fucking time ago.

 

His head ached as she opened the door, not surprised to see him. Maybe even pleased. It just made Billy’s skin crawl more. Dumont didn’t seem to care, seemingly eager at being confronted by a mask wearing escaped criminal, pleased even. Billy might have had a piece or two of his brain missing, but he knew better than to think  _ that  _ was normal. Without a word, she just let him into her apartment.

 

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up. I knew that you would.”

 

He didn’t reply, following her into the space that was just a little too lacy, a little too false. Looked like catalogue shit, without a soul behind any of the choices. Designed to look normal. It made his skin itch, like he wanted to scratch it off to get at whatever was beneath this scar tissue, good or bad. Not that he had many illusions left that he was good.

 

Dumont turned back to him once the door was closed (unlocked, what was  _ wrong  _ with her?) and gave him that half smile he had found so goddamn infuriating while he was in the hospital. The half smile that screamed ‘I know a secret and I’m not telling you’, even if she had no real secrets left to surprise him.

 

He knew he was a piece of shit. He knew that  _ she  _ knew it, and wanted to use it against Frank, against this Page woman. The  _ why  _ didn’t even bother him right now. He just wanted the  _ how _ , so he could use it to keep his head above water, to find a way out of this mess like he always did. That was the worst part about all of it. He had no illusions that he did everything the file said, everything Frank thought him capable of. 

 

There wasn’t a lot Billy Russo wouldn’t do in order to survive, to stay on top, and that apparently included leaving the man who he considered a brother to the wolves.

 

But there was no time for him to try and reconcile that grim reality, not when his former psychologist was standing there like some bizarre, proud mother (and he wasn’t about to unpack  _ that _ any time soon) as he paced her entry way, his earlier bravado fading away to something like fear. 

 

He was in enemy territory without any recon. Everything about this felt like a trap.

 

“I knew that you’d find your way back, Billy.” The way she said his name made him want to scream, and he almost did, the noise coming out of him enough to startle Dumont into taking a step back, but she pressed on with her little pre-prepared speech anyway. “You want answers. You want the truth, a way forward.”

 

She wasn’t wrong, but it still made him want to puke.

 

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up about the truth, about answers. You didn’t tell me about anything that happened, you still won’t. Don’t give me that shit about  _ truth _ .”

 

He’d planned on holding it together, like he always did. Lt. Russo had kept cool and collected while Lt. Castle charged, but Frank wasn’t Raven any more than he was Blackbird these days, and he felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

 

Billy wasn’t sure that he could do this. But he was sure that he didn’t have a choice either.

 

Dumont didn’t seem to get too flustered by his anger. “I know that you’re struggling with a lot, but I can’t just give you these answers, Billy. You have to remember on your own, or it won’t help you, in the long run.” She paused, considering something. “You have to come to your own memory of who did this to you.”

 

Billy’s back stiffened, because it was such a bald play that he almost started laughing. “This is some theatrical shit, you know that?” With two long strides, he’d crossed the room, looming over her with intent that was just this side of murderous. He had a feeling they wouldn’t like that in the car, but he also was getting rapidly to the point where he didn’t give a shit.

 

He felt too out of control, like she held all the cards. Billy was scrambling for something, anything to regain some kind of leverage, and was coming up short.

 

“Quit messing with me, doc. You said you knew I’d be back. You’ve clearly got a reason you wanted me to get back here, so spill it. Why are you leading me on this merry fucking chase of yours. Tell me!”

 

He yelled right in her face, but the woman barely blinked. Up close, Billy could see that same sort of unsettled look in her eyes that he’d seen in his own from time to time now. Something unfocused. It wasn’t like something was disconnected, and he realized pretty damn clearly that just like she was trying to manipulate him, someone was manipulating her too.

 

Didn’t really make it any better.

 

She didn’t flinch, just stepped back, towards one of the back doorways like it was Christmas fuckin’ Eve and she was one of Santa’s helpers. “Because I got you something, Billy. Something I think will help you with your healing.”

 

And for the first time, he accepted that none of this was in his control at all.

 

She opened the door to one of the rooms, and there sat a man from Billy Russo’s nightmares, tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth while Krista Dumont laughed softly at his side.

 

“You recognize him, don’t you?”

 

Billy swallowed, his eyes wide and dark from underneath the mask. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

 

+++

 

“What the fuck is going on in there?”

 

Frank wished that he had an answer, had a feed, had  _ something  _ to go on besides Billy’s increasingly labored breathing and a nearly singsong voice of someone who should never have been put in charge of  _ anyone’s  _ mental health. That was never a stone Frank would throw from his own glass house built from trauma and everything else, but the woman was clearly not well, which just solidified Billy’s theory about Fisk.

 

Wouldn’t be the first time that he manipulated someone’s mental stability for his own gain.

 

But whatever was going on, it involved a third person now, and Frank couldn’t figure out for the life of him who that person was. He knew that Billy had a mother, in a care home that they’d discovered in the aftermath of the takedown of Rawlins. Billy hadn’t been kind to her, but that wasn’t surprising to Frank, knowing what he knew of the other man’s childhood.

 

Didn’t change it was wrong, but it sure as hell explained some motivations.

 

But Dumont had said  _ him _ , and Frank wasn’t tracking until Billy’s voice crackled over the comm, and even Madani seemed taken aback by the obvious fear it was laced with.

 

_ “Arthur Walsh.” _   
  


“Son of a bitch.” Frank had some gaps in his memory too, but not about that. He knew that name. In spite of everything Russo had done to him, just hearing the name turned Frank’s stomach. He remembered, Billy opening up to him a lifetime ago about what it had been like in the system, sitting on that park bench, watching the kids play baseball as Russo told him just what Walsh had done. He remembered, one random moment with his own children playing ball in their backyard having a flash of that near blinding anger because the conversation floated right back up to the forefront of his mind, ugly. To a father, infuriating, terrifying.

 

It wasn’t like there was just one Arthur Walsh out there.

 

“Walsh was a guy who Billy ran into while he was in the system.” Frank turned his head, looking at Madani with almost pained gravity. He swallowed, eyes forward again because it just all made him sick.. “Tried to -- pull some shit on Billy while he was in his house. You know the kind of thing that happens there. He fought back, tore his shoulder up pretty bad. Ruined his chance at a baseball scholarship or anything, but --- aw, fuck. You can fill in the details.”

 

It wasn’t his story to tell, but she had to know, because even before it happened, Frank knew what was coming. He heard Walsh saying something a little more muffled, too far from Billy’s wire to be fully picked up, but one thing came through as clear as day.

 

_ “You always were a very handsome kid.” _

 

The gunshots seemed inevitable after that. Frank barely flinched, Madani’s fingers tightening on the steering wheel reflexively. It was a common play, if disgusting. Break him down, just to build him back up. Make him think that he can trust you alone. Dumont wasn’t an idiot, she was following the playbook, and maybe Russo even deserved it, after everything.

 

But even in Frank’s head, that felt hollow. Being manipulated so brazenly just made Frank feel sick. It wasn’t justice. It wasn’t even revenge. It was just ugly, and pretending it served any other purpose wasn’t any prettier. It was easier to just hate him. Cleaner. Frank could pity the distant past and maybe even the present, but it didn’t change what had happened that day in Central Park. The day that Billy Russo could have stopped, but didn’t. So Frank stayed silent, hardened against anything like forgiveness. He had to focus on protecting Karen right now, and ignoring that prickle of compassion that Billy had no right to provoke out of him.

 

There was some mumbling by Dumont as she moved closer to Billy, so the mic could pick up her honeyed words about catharsis and healing. Russo stayed silent, but his breath was quick, rough.  _ “And when you find that shadow, and you will find him, Billy, putting him down will make it all the sweeter.” _

 

Frank wished to God he could shut off the feed.

 

Dumont stressed again how important it was to seek out the memory, to target Karen in order to take out the Punisher, who would always protect her. At least the woman had gotten that much right. Frank was about to complain that this was a wash, that they weren’t even going to get anything when Billy’s voice came over the feed, shaky but deliberate.

 

_ “Sounds like someone wants Karen Page and the Punisher out of the picture pretty badly to go to all this trouble.” _

 

Dumont paused, and for a second Frank and Madani both worried it was all going to be blown.  _ “Someone does. Anyone would, really. They’re the kind of people who just get in the way, Billy. You know the type, as does my employer. He sees a lot of potential in you, and that’s why he’s asking me to help you. Here.”  _ There was a shuffle of papers, and Billy’s voice caught.  _ “Try there next.” _

 

The feed was silent except for breathing for the next seven minutes as they drove to the extraction point, giving Billy time to make sure he didn’t have a tail. When he got back in the SUV, mask already abandoned, he handed over a folder of papers to Frank and Madani, then grabbed a bag in the backseat to puke.

 

The folder was filled with internal CIA documents, dated last week, outlining the daily comings and goings of Karen Page, Franklin Nelson, and Matthew Murdock.

 

+++

 

A lot happened over the next half hour.

 

Madani only had a handful of people that she trusted, and at least two were in a safehouse that’s likely no longer safe. She can’t move them quickly without alerting whoever is watching, so she and Frank drive in silence, Billy pale as a ghost in the backseat.

 

Frank texted Karen to be ready for a quick pick up, and sure enough, she and Curtis are out the door before the guards on duty had time to question Madani. The swapped vehicles with something Frank boosted quickly enough, headed uptown in silence, although Karen’s eyes were so wide, her hand on her purse.

 

His heart broke a little at that, and he reached for her hand.  _ That’s my girl.  _

 

Frank had half expected Madani to drive them to her parents’ place again, after a brief conversation that he overheard only her part of and told him next to nothing except it was with someone she felt comfortable enough with to say  _ love you  _ at the end. It was an apartment, but smack in the middle of the Kitchen. They went up the back stairwell, two at a time after Frank and Madani made sure there were no cameras in play, and a tallish woman who looked vaguely familiar opened the door on the fourth floor after Dinah knocked.

 

“Any wounded?” Claire Temple was sort of getting used to this kind of shit by now, and gave everyone a practiced once over as she shuffled them into her place, kissing Madani on the cheek briefly before locking the door. “C’mon. The others are already here.”

 

Frank knew better than to comment on  _ that _ , but Karen was grinning just a little.

 

Sitting in the living room, Foggy Nelson and Marci Stahl were pouring over some paperwork while the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen brooded near some windows, not looking up at the new arrivals. He probably heard them coming long before they got here, the spooky piece of shit. Frank just ignored Murdock, knowing goddamned well if he had to talk to the man just now he might just throw him out the window. 

 

“Ms. Page, my apologies,” a small, dark-haired woman said with a polished accent Frank couldn’t place extended a hand to Karen, walking over from the kitchen. He noticed how still Karen had gone, but he didn’t know why.

 

“We never were able to be properly introduced. Elektra Natchios.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was extremely difficult for me to write because I did not want to make light of what Billy went through, but at the same time not completely excuse what Billy did. It's a pretty fine line, but like most of the stuff in the Punisherverse it gets pretty grey, and I hope that I did it justice.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and I hope you're enjoying it! A huge shout out as always to my support squad, karenpage and redbelles, as well as anachronistique (even though she doesn't even go here.)

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this idea kicking around ever since watching season two about things playing out differently. I still plan on including Amy, but no Pilgrim. I don't want to give away big plotpoints, but I will say that there's an overarching attempt to make Billy Russo slightly less of a garbage goblin just so that we're all on the same page with that. But don't worry, he's still absolutely a garbage goblin man and he will have to actually have to deal with what he did instead of just having a bizarre plotline that makes no sense and entirely wastes a proper antagonist.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I'm on tumblr as foggiestnelson if you want to say hi!


End file.
